by Jules Dixon
The low point came three days ago. I’d been exploring the dealership parking lot while I considered trading in my Mustang for something different. I needed a change of driving scenery was what I’d told the front desk as I left the office to walk the huge lot in the freezing weather.
But it was also a lie.
It was all lies.
I ducked behind a massive F-350 dual-wheel truck and dug into my pocket. The capsule of cocaine shaped like lip balm was enough to get me through the afternoon, but not much longer.
“Hey, Drexel.”
I was pre-snort and the voice jolted me. The container of coke fell from my hand and I shuffled forward to force it under the truck.
I cleared my throat. “Mr. Jessen … hello.”
“Everything okay?”
I motioned to the truck. “Yeah, thinking about an upgrade to something bigger.”
“You’ve always had a Mustang. You really think you’ll be happy with a truck?”
“Are you trying to talk me out of buying a new vehicle?”
He chuckled. “I think I’ve lost my selling mojo over the years. Being as cutthroat as I was when I was younger doesn’t have the same thrill. I see a bigger picture. Maybe you do, too? Is there a special someone in your life who’s putting perspective on a more family-friendly vehicle?”
I stopped reviewing the specs sticker in the window and stared at him. His interest was genuine.
“Um, no, not yet. Most of the women I’ve met are more interested in what I can offer them, not what we can mutually offer each other, and none have ever made me consider marriage or anything close to that.”
“Thank God I found Lydia in high school. Today there are so many more challenges to a relationship and finding someone—and not just someone, but the person who’s right and real and ready for the big picture.” He examined the sticker. “Before I forget, thank you for bringing Rory home from the wedding reception.”
“You’re welcome.” I kicked the ground again, making sure the snow covered … the snow.
“Great job these last few days. That extra effort is what I remember from your early days here at the dealership. Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure, shoot.” My heart sped like I’d actually done the hit. Maybe he knew. Maybe I hadn’t been as concealed as I’d thought.
“I always wondered what had happened to that Conley kid back then. You know the one that was loud and obnoxious? I think his name was Aaron. He just up and stopped coming to work.”
“His name was Evan, but I don’t know, sir.”
“I don’t buy that.” Mr. Jessen shook his head. “Drex, there are cameras all over my property. I was in the den when I saw him being chased down the gazebo stairs by you.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“Then I watched Rory exit the gazebo an hour later.”
Remembering how Rory’s eyes had pierced into me when I caught him touching her, violating her, made me shudder.
“Evan Conley had been stealing from cars,” I replied, the cold or the past causing a long shiver to roll down my back. “I caught him and told him not to come back.”
“Wish you’d have come to me, but thank you, Drexel.”
If Rory never told her parents what happened, I didn’t think it needed to be brought up and the excuse seemed to pacify him. “You’re welcome.”
Mr. Jessen slapped my back. “Let’s get back inside. No use freezing out here when we both know that truck isn’t going to buy itself. Last sales day of the year and you’ve made it a good one. It’s time to get gone. Hear you’re taking a few days off?”
I walked alongside him. “Yeah, family stuff.”
“Good to hear. Family is what keeps me sane. Well, that and a glass of good scotch.”
“Have a happy New Year, Mr. Jessen.”
“Happy New Year, Drexel.”
I pretended to be walking to my car, but after he disappeared through the front door, I tracked my steps back to the truck, collected the evidence, and stopped to stare at the sticker one more time. He was right, driving a Mustang had been the one constant in my life, and changing to fit some mold of a guy who was ready to settle down wasn’t me.
Three days later, I was sitting in my boxers being taken over by whole-body shakes, followed by skin-crackling chills and finally trailed by nerve-singeing hot flashes. Detox trifecta of torture.
My head wouldn’t stay focused on any one thing for more than two seconds. And weird shit was flying through my thoughts: grey stilettos, barely-covered snowy white breasts, wrinkled dresses, and hundreds of other images—a smorgasbord of Aurora temptation.
My phone buzzed just as my body was giving me a moment of torture relief.
Aurora: I am sorry. My last texts to you were juvenile and impulsive. And you have every right to be mad at me or never talk to me again. If you can let me apologize in person, I would appreciate the opportunity. I promise you, I didn’t mean those things.
I’m sorry, too.
My hands ticked with muscle cramps to add a delightful fourth dimension to the detox barrage of side effects. I pecked out a simple response. There was no need rehashing the past.
Drexel: Thanks. Enjoy your NYE and we’ll talk soon.
I rolled to my side on the sofa to wait for a return message, but my eyes drifted closed and my brain enveloped me in dreams that could probably be considered pornographic, but considering how my body reacted, I wasn’t complaining. Every moment felt so fucking right. Calm. Centered. Cautious. My cock had never been as hard in my life. The vision flowed through me. I was watching myself with her, the perfection, the connection, the desire, all there in her eyes. That entrancing sapphire gaze stared back at me as my body glided inside of her, eliciting that sigh she’d perfected over the years, and every hair on my body stood on end, as if reaching out to her. It was the slowest sex dream I’d ever experienced. Every moment captured in a highlight reel in my head. Torturing me until I imagined her final moments of pleasure with her whispering my name only because she was used to screaming it, and if anything, Aurora Jessen always surprised me. My body tightened before a white-hot tremor rocked through me.
I awoke, my chest rising and falling in rapid succession, my head spinning a little, and not from the detox. Glancing to my stomach, I realized the dream had had a very real effect on me. My boxers stuck to my skin.
A goddamn wet dream? If I act like a teenage boy and know who I want in my subconscious, why can’t I admit I want her and tell her like a real man should be able to?
Disappointment, for both of us, slipped into my mind. She deserved a guy who offered her reality, not some drug-induced or dreamed substitution.
I picked up my phone. There was a text waiting for me when I got back to the couch.
“Shit!” I hadn’t responded and it was two hours past the time stamp.
Her words were hard to make out. My hand was shaking the phone to blur my already distorted vision.
Aurora: Happy New Year! Hope you had a good night. It’s just me and my champagne here … if you want to talk it out now.
Drexel: Champagne, again? Lesson NOT learned. Just kidding.
I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, ignoring the takeout Chinese food I’d had delivered earlier. Nothing sounded good.
Except one thing.
My phone vibrated on the coffee table. I left it there and read from where I was sitting.
Aurora: Do you hate me?
Shit! Hate?
On a good day, I wasn’t sure what emotions I was feeling, but there was only one person I’d ever hated in the past. I only wished I could have been there sooner to stop Evan before he even started.
Drexel: What would make you think I hate you? That text I sent you? Both of us can be a little impetuous.
I picked up the phone and lay back into the couch that used to be my parents’. Some days I thought it still smelled like my dad’s choice of aftershave. The tagline said “cooling” but I’d tried i
t once after shaving and had to place a bag of frozen corn on my face to actually cool it down.
Aurora: Are you on a date?
What to say…
Aurora: Just forget I asked. Not any of my business anyway.
Miss Jessen, the fact you asked means you want it to be your business and I’m starting to think I wouldn’t mind that at all.
Drexel: I’m at home. Ollie and Holt invited me over for dinner, but I was afraid neither of them would kiss me at midnight so I declined.
I imagined a smile crossing her face. Even with my heart pounding a pulse in my brain and the rolling muscle spasms clenching my muscles in a symphony of pain, I smiled and every pain faded away. Only for a few seconds, but that relief was enough to give me hope the pain could be gone forever.
Aurora: LOL. Happy New Year :-)
Drexel: Happy New Year
I thought about keeping the conversation going. Hell, I thought about going to her house and knocking down her door. The code was stuck in my head. The code! Fuck! It was her birthday!
She’s right. Self-centered asshole—right here!
****
The next two days were a repeating loop of the same day. Body aches and pains were the least of my worries, every stash was calling my name. I figured once I was done with the detox, I could dispose of them. Wasn’t sure there was a hardcore drug recycling program, but I’d work it out.
The fifth day, I woke up and after I’d had my second cup of coffee I realized the headache and body pains weren’t screaming at me. At least not at a decibel that made me consider cutting off body parts. My shoulder was up to old tricks, but I’d go back on the prescription pain meds and hopefully they’d take the edge off.
I decided to get out and do some shopping. There was a jewelry store only a few blocks from my house, so I walked in the energizing chill of a Nebraska winter. The bell over the door made a familiar jingle. My heart rang a fresh and content sensation matching the happy jingle. I was there to shop for a birthday gift, something to tell Rory she meant something to me, that she was someone more to me and I wanted us to be something more. If I thought detoxing was scary, this … this was thinking-past-today-into-the-future scary.
Never done that. I’ve always been a live-in-the-now guy.
I picked out a necklace. Not something over the top and no diamonds. The message needed to be “I care and want her to care,” but not “I care so much that if she doesn’t care I won’t be okay that she doesn’t care.”
Jacked up!
The jewelry was simple and yet elegant and the way the sapphire stone set in the winding of the silver made me think of fire and ice, like us. If Rory and I ever actually got together, I could imagine the steam we’d create. I only feared I’d burn her. But it was time to at least find out if our attraction could be more.
Now to figure out when and how.
Chapter Eight
Aurora
“So, what happened with you and Drex after he took you home?” Chloe asked while blowing on a cup of hot chocolate. It was mid-January, and we were all at Avery’s apartment for movie watching.
“Um … not that I remember everything, or actually anything, but apparently, I took my dress off in front of him and invited him to stay the night.”
Avery stopped working with the DVR and her head spun to where I sat on the floor in front of a chair. “And did he?”
“No, he left.”
“Why?”
I pulled my phone from my bag. “I’m paraphrasing from his text the next morning—‘because I was too far gone to have sex with him or myself’. Our texts escalated and I told him to fuck off. I apologized by text on New Year’s Eve and we had a little flirty texting, but I haven’t heard from him since.” Their stares made me uncomfortable and I waved the conversation off. “It’s okay. I’m not sure there was really anything between us but some horniness we should probably sober self-love to alleviate.”
Avery laughed.
Chloe rubbed her growing baby belly. “Well, I think I’m done with any kind of man-loving for a while.”
“So, you and Jake didn’t…” I asked not wanting the details but to know if my setup had been successful.
“Oh, I wanted to and he”—she crinkled her nose—“tried?”
“What’s that mean?” Avery asked.
“Well, guys seem to get weirded out at the thought of being where another guy put his daddy-makins. Knowing there’s something in there floating just past their penis seems to cause man problems that even a little blue pill would have issues overcoming.”
“So Jake couldn’t, or wouldn’t?” Avery stood and started the DVD.
I could see this not ending well for Jake. Seeing that Jake and Bryson, Avery’s boyfriend, seemed like close buddies. There might just be a little ribbing in Jake’s future.
“Little bit of both. His soldier would salute, then just when he was ready to march into battle, he kept, um … going AWOL?” Avery and I burst out laughing and Chloe giggled. “He made sure I got my 21-gun salute. I did feel pretty shitty that he didn’t discharge his impressive weapon, but he really acted like it was fine he didn’t.” Chloe fell back against the sofa and shook her head. “And dammit, I’m still so fucking horny from the baby hormones. I want to jump anything that has a warm and responsive genital accessory. A humming plastic one isn’t the same.”
“That sucks, Chloe.” I didn’t really know what to say after someone I’ve met twice tells me she has a vibrating dildo and isn’t happy using it.
“It really does. I’ve self-loved so much while I’ve been on break that I’ve run out of fantasies and fantasy guys.”
“Oh, fantasy guys! Chris Hemsworth and Jensen Ackles,” Avery blurted, then blushed a shade lighter than her hair.
“Jensen,” Chloe exhaled his name.
“What about Channing Tatum?” I swooned and sighed.
“Damn pregnancy hormones!” Chloe whimpered.
Avery searched her DVD collection. “I have Magic Mike!” She waved the video like it was a winning lottery ticket.
Chloe sipped her hot chocolate. “I’ve never seen it. Is it any good?”
“Well, yeah. It’s hot guys dancing almost naked. What could be bad about that?”
“I’m pretty sure that would add to my problem, not subtract from it,” Chloe muttered.
“Sleeping Beauty it is then.”
The previews started.
“Gotta pee. Again.” Chloe jogged the hallway.
“I’m going to make some popcorn.” Avery paused the movie. “You like salt or no salt?”
“To hell with it, bring on the salt! Why should I care if I’m puffy or not?” I grunted and moved from the floor into a fluffy chair.
“Interesting attitude, and not at all concerning.” Avery rolled her eyes. “Maybe a little salt. How was your birthday?”
I made a noise that was a groan and resignation to how blah and un-21-like the day had been.
The microwave beeped as she asked, “That good, huh?”
“I drunk-texted Drexel that apology.”
“You got drunk again?” I heard a twinge of concern in Avery’s voice.
“With my parents!”
In my defense, it was really good champagne.
Pitiful.
Avery walked into the room. “That’s okay. I went out with my three older brothers for my twenty-first birthday. They cock-blocked every cute guy who came within ten feet of me.”
I exhaled and stared at the paused TV screen. “I need a life, Avery.”
What I really needed was to be wanted by someone who wasn’t blood-related to me. I wanted to know a guy chose me because he liked the way I did everything. The way I said something. The way I treated him. The way I was just being me with him.
The bigger problem was I still couldn’t get one blond guy out of my head. After our short texting on New Year’s Eve, I realized what he had actually done for me the night of the wedding—he saved me from myself. My
emotional side had a tendency to overdramatize and make a scene when one wasn’t needed. A personality flaw? Maybe. But I dreamed there was a guy out there who would enjoy taming or reveling my impetuous side.
My phone buzzed in my purse and I pulled it out.
Drexel: Are you home?
I sat up straight and re-read the text like it was an hallucination. “Oh my … God.”
“What?” Chloe asked as her jean button shot across the room from the additional pressure. “Crap. I guess these aren’t going to work any longer.”
“Drexel just texted and asked if I was home.” My insides tickled and fluttered. Maybe this was a chance to tell him I was sorry and we could kiss and make up in person?
Oh, how I want to kiss and make up.
I leaned back against the sofa.
Aurora: I’m at Avery’s watching movies.
Drexel: I need to see you. Now, please.
Needs? He needs to see me?
I bit my lip. “He says he needs to see me now. And he asked with a please, so that’s pretty big.”
Before I could text back, my phone vibrated in my hand.
Drexel: Actually, don’t worry about it. Text me after the movie is over and we’ll hook up.
Hook up? Like hook-up-hook-up or hang-out hook-up?
“That was weird.” I relayed what Drexel texted.
Avery carried the popcorn and bowls into the living room and handed them off. “Sounds kind of typical for him. From my experience, Drexel has always been kind of a…” Avery dangled a piece of popcorn like the descriptor was already leaving a bad taste in her mouth.
“A what?” Chloe and I asked at the same time.
“Well … jerk. At one time, Presley used to call him Dixless because he was so nasty to her. He has issues.”